


Put Away Childish Things

by madeitsimple



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 05:18:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20483501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeitsimple/pseuds/madeitsimple
Summary: Peter had gotten sick like a little kid in front of the one man he needed to see him as a responsible adult.  He needed to leave before it got any worse. “It’s probably just a bug,” Peter said, wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie.  “I should probably just go home.”ORPeter thinks he can handle being sick on his own. Lucky for him, Tony is always there.





	Put Away Childish Things

Friday nights at the Avenger compound weren’t a routine, not quite yet, but Peter had been invited enough times, five to be exact, that he had stopped making other plans.  
  
Usually, a car picked him up after school and whisked him upstate, where Tony met him at the gate or Happy took him down to the lab. They spent their evenings either working on his suit, or sparring, or running battle simulations with the rest of the team. Around 7 or 8 they took a break for dinner, after which everyone went their separate ways. Sometimes, Happy took him straight home, but on a few occasions Peter had gone back to the lab with Tony, and the two had done more talking than working.  
  
This Friday, as Happy eased the car around the front entrance, Peter kept his fingers crossed for a light day in the lab. He’d been feeling off all morning, a light headache pushing at his temples, his throat just sore enough that eating lunch had been a chore. Rather than cancel their evening plans, he’d dry swallowed a few painkillers and prayed for the best.  
  
“Head around back,” Happy said, slamming the door shut behind him. “They’re waiting for you in the simulation arena.”  
  
A week ago, Peter had been given his own biometric access code to the campus. When Tony had him try it out, he felt a rush of pride and responsibility that left him beaming. It was a watershed moment, like getting your license or being allowed to drink or smoke or vote, only way more important. As far as Peter was concerned, he’d passed a threshold into adulthood. Sure, he was only 17 and Tony still called him ‘kid’ all the time, but that mattered less and less. He was practically an Avenger now. All he had to do was not screw it up.  
  
The simulation arena was in a sub-basement well below the main floors and Peter rushed to suit up and join the team. The flurry of activity left him slightly winded, not a good sign considering what he was about to jump into. Before entering the floor, Peter took a few moments to steady himself. Even though he felt less than great, he was determined to pull his weight. After all, if he failed during a sim, there was no way they’d call him up during a real battle.  
  
Things started to go wrong the minute FRIDAY let him enter the arena. Instead of webbing up aliens, he accidentally trapped Rhody’s arm to a pillar. When he tried to stop an out of control bus from crashing, he instead nailed Tony with it and sent him flying. There were mistakes and then there was whatever was happening with him now. His timing was off, his vision kept blurring, and his dull headache was threatening to become a full blown migraine. It was not only annoying, but it was seriously affecting his ability to kick some virtual alien ass.  
  
“You alright, Peter?”  
  
Hovering in mid-air, Tony popped open his face plate and looked down at him. Peter had been poised to save Captain Rogers from a Chitauri leviathan when a sudden bought of vertigo sent him toppling off of a pillar.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, ripping off his mask. He swallowed thickly. His throat felt like it was on fire. “I just misjudged the distance is all. Sorry about that.” He nodded to Captain Rogers whose expression was unreadable under the cowl.  
  
Tony had FRIDAY restart the sim, but they stopped again 10 minutes later when, instead of deflecting two of Clint’s arrows, Peter had taken one right in the chest. It was rubber tipped, but still. He went down hard and that was that for the day.  
  
“Alright, pack it up guys,” Cap said, exchanging a look with Tony. “Early dinner, everyone.”  
  
Mortified, Peter scrambled to catch up with Tony as they all exited to the locker rooms.   
  
“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what happened,” he said. All of a sudden his arms had refused to move, and he’d gone all achey.   
  
Instead of a reprimand, Tony wrapped an arm around his shoulder, his eyes betraying a brief flicker of worry.  
  
“You sure you’re OK?” he asked again. “You sound horse, like you’re coming down with something. Which, if you are, I’m actually going to need you to wear a mask.”  
  
He was kidding but Peter flinched slightly just the same. “I’m totally fine,” he lied. The stress of running around fighting might have aggravated his head and there was a sudden queasy feeling in his stomach, but Peter skipped those details. “It’s just an off night.”   
  
Tony looked skeptical but dropped the subject. “We got another 30 or so before dinner. Want to help me with some suit modifications in the lab?”   
  
With an enthusiastic nod that he immediately regretted, Peter agreed and followed him there.  
  
The lab was quieter and darker, but the pounding in his head made it impossible to concentrate. Now that he was sitting still, he noticed just how tired he really was. In the half-hour they sat there, Peter made practically no headway on his work, the equations and schematics swimming in front of his eyes. He used most of his energy just trying to remain upright. It occurred to him that it might be time to fess up, come clean about the sudden crapiness of his constitution, but his spirit rebelled at the thought giving up their regular Friday night dinner.  
  
Plus, he was of no use to them if he became sick. He didn’t want to give Tony any reason to send him home early.  
  
“Peter?” The hand on his shoulder was gentle, but it startled him regardless. He snapped his eyes open, unsure of when he’d actually closed them. “Let’s grab dinner, alright? Get some food into you.”  
  
The thought of food made his stomach roll. Peter took a deep breath and waited for the urge to vomit to pass. “Sure,” he mumbled, and then, giving up the ghost, “I think I’m just tired.”  
  
“Long week?”  
  
He shrugged. Not any longer than usual, but he was clearly off his game.   
  
They made their way upstairs in almost total silence as Peter tried to navigate the steps and corridors without tripping over his own feet. The smart thing to do would’ve been to beg off dinner, get Happy to take him home, but Peter hadn’t spent any time with Tony this week and a childish need to stay in his presence kept asserting itself. He was surprised when, instead of stopping at their regular dining room, they went up an extra floor and exited into Tony’s private wing. There was a large, comfortable living room to one side, with a kitchen and dining area spaced off to the other. Instead of taking a seat at the table, Tony planted him on the sofa and pushed a sports drink in his hand, along with two pills.   
  
“Take those,” he said, gesturing to the tablets. “Bruce developed them for Steve but they should help you too. You don’t look so good, kid.”  
  
Gratefully, Peter sank into the cushions and closed his eyes, resisting the urge to lie down completely. He wasn’t hungry, but he was tired. He’d be fine if Tony would just let him lie here, forever. After what felt like only a minute, there was a dip in the sofa and a warm hand was on his back. For no reason Peter could think of, his throat closed up with tears at the touch.  
  
“Peter? Think you can eat something?”  
  
Peter nodded, not trusting his voice. Mr. Stark was being awfully nice to him. He struggled a little sitting back up and noticed a small tray of soup and toast laid out before them. “Thought this might be easier on your throat,” Tony said.  
  
There was a slight tremor in his hand as Peter brought the spoon up to his lips. Tomato. His stomach lurched with nausea just at the smell, but he thought it would be unforgivably rude to not at least try it. He managed half the bowl before his stomach began to flip, bile rushing into his mouth. The bowl fell with a clatter as Peter ran to the sink and threw up what little he had swallowed. The bitterness of bile and the half-dissolved medication burned his throat, coated his mouth.  
  
“I”m sorry,” Peter mumbled, heaving over the sink and blinking back tears. Throwing up in front of Mr. Stark was dumb enough, but crying about it was even dumber.   
  
Again, there was a warm hand on his back. “It’s alright, just take it easy,” Tony said. He ran the water in the sink and handed Peter a glass to rinse out his mouth. “Why don’t you lie down for a little while? Get some rest,” he offered.  
  
Peter straighted and shook his head, sure his entire face was beat red. “No, I’m ok,” he managed. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just not hungry.”   
  
Tony looked at him with a mix of sympathy and worry, his brows knitted together in a slight frown. “Why don’t you let Bruce take a look at you? You’re probably coming down with something. He can make sure it’t nothing serious.”  
  
Again Peter shook his head, suddenly desperate for the evening to be over. He’d gotten sick like a little kid in front of the one man he needed to see him as a responsible adult. He needed to leave before it got any worse. “It’s probably just a bug,” Peter said, wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie. “I should probably just go home.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Tony pushed back Peter’s hair and felt his forehead, an unreliable way to measure body temperature, but still the most common. Peter had to resist the urge to lean into the touch. “You feel really warm, kid. Why don’t you lie down for a bit? You can sleep for a little while and then we’ll take you home.” Before removing his hand, Tony smoothed back Peter’s hair. It didn’t cure his naeusa or his headache but it warmed something inside him just the same.  
  
As tempting as the idea was, Peter forced himself to stand up straighter and shook his head. Tony was a busy man, there was no way he had time to babysit a sick kid. “No, it’s totally cool, Mr. Stark. I’m gonna be fine. I can take care of myself.”  
  
“Peter, at least let Bruce take a look at you.”  
  
He shook his head more forcefully. That was the last thing he needed, Dr. Banner seeing him acting like a kid. It was bad enough he was breaking down in front of Tony, he didn’t need the rest of the team knowing. He was an adult, and he needed to act like it.  
  
“I think maybe I should just go home,” he said.  
  
Tony opened this mouth to protest, but Peter cut him off. “I’ll be more comfortable at home, honestly.”   
  
The words came out sharper then Peter intended and he regretted them almost instantly. Tony’s face fell slightly before he composed himself. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “If you’re sure. Come on, I’ll take you home. I’m sure May’s better equipped to deal with this anyway.”   
  
May was in the Catskills for a girl’s weekend, but Peter didn’t offer up a correction. He’d be fine on his own. There was no need for anyone to come hold his hand. Well, not much of one anyway. He stumbled a little on their way out to the garage and only Tony’s hand on his elbow kept him from taking a spill down the stairs. Usually Happy drove him home, but this time Tony slid behind the wheel. Peter curled up in the front passenger seat and immediately closed his eyes, nodding off before they even made it to the highway.   
  
He drifted as they drove back into the city, vaguely aware of Tony talking to him softly every now and then, asking if he needed water, if he was too hot or too cold. Soon enough, they were parked in front of his building and strong, steady hands helped him out of the car and up the sidewalk. In his sleepy haze, Peter wanted nothing more than to curl into the touch, to let it carry him all the way up to his bed. But, with great effort, he shook off the arm around his shoulders, determined to minimize the amount of clinging he did in one day.  
  
“Peter?” He heard Mr. Stark say his name but didn’t turn, walking quickly into the building. He felt the increasing urge to vomit again, and took the stairs two a time, making it just inside the doorway before he dropped to his knees. He wasn’t fast enough to make the bathroom or the kitchen sink, and threw up another round of tomato scented bile on May’s nice hallway runner.  
  
Heaving and sweaty, Peter pulled off his hoodie and threw it over the mess, a weak attempt at moping it up. Now that he was completely alone and with no one to pretend for, he let himself feel the full measure of his sickness. The pounding in his head was relentless and every muscle in his body felt like lead. For some time, Peter stayed there on his knees, hands pressing into the carpet, the last bits of spit and bile clinging to the corners of his mouth. Finally, on shaky legs, Peter managed to stumble into bed.  
  
All evening, he’d operated under the assumption that sleep would fix everything, that just getting into bed would settle his head, uncoil his stomach and offer some form of absolution from whatever was ripping up his insides. He lay as still as possible but sleep wouldn’t come. He was miserable, achey, his body alternately hot and cold, and no position seemed to make him comfortable. Just when he seemed to be drifting off, another bought of nausea roused him awake and a rush of liquid flew out of his mouth, pooling in a sticky puddle onto the rug.   
  
It was humiliating to be throwing up in his bed like a child. Peter had delt with physical injuries before, plenty of them since becoming Spider-Man but none had left him as helpless as he felt now. Big, fat miserable tears leaked out of his eyes and Peter didn’t bother to wipe them away. He was alone, terrifyingly alone, and was likely to be alone for days. He found himself wishing desperately for Tony or May, but rather than call them, he tried to push thoughts of them out of his head. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he could do this.  
  
Pain was only temporary, he reminded himself. Nothing terrible lasted forever. It’s what he’d told himself after Uncle Ben died. He’d gotten through that awful night, and the many awful nights after that, and he’d get through this one, too. Those thoughts didn’t make him feel better though, they only made him miss Uncle Ben more. A fresh wave of heartache hit him then, and Peter curled onto side, letting the tears slide down his cheek until they dripped into his ear. He hadn’t been able to help Uncle Ben, so it was only fair that no one should come help him.  
  
“Peter? Can you hear me? Kid, wake up.”   
  
Maybe he was dreaming, he wasn’t sure, but he heard voices, low and familiar, around him.  
  
“Jesus, he’s burning up.”   
  
“Poor kid threw up everywhere.”  
  
It had to be a dream because there was the soft sweep of a hand through his hair, petting him gently. The touch made him sigh, and a familiar voice called his name again.  
  
“Peter?” Tony said.  
  
He tried to mumble out a greeting but his mouth felt like it was welded shut.   
  
“It’s OK, kid. I’m right here. You’re going to be fine.”  
  
There was more soft talking, and suddenly Karen’s voice filled the room, making him wince.  
  
“Peter’s temperature is 103.4. His pulse is rapid but strong.”  
  
Peter cracked open his eyes at the noise, but flinched at the bright light filling the room. Tony shushed him again and placed a steadying hand on his chest, murmuring to him softly. A few moments later, there was a light jostling of his limbs as Peter felt himself being lifted from the bed and tucked against a broad chest.  
  
“I’m sorry kid, I know this hurts, but we need Bruce take a look at you, alright?”  
  
The voice wasn’t Mr. Stark’s and Peter let out a sad little whimper of confusion.  
  
“Tony’s right here, Peter. I’m just gonna take you down to the car.”  
  
Soon, he was lying down again, but this time, his head pillowed under something soft, and an arm fell across his chest.  
  
“Mr. Stark?” he mumbled, finally opening his eyes. He was back in the car, lying across Tony’s lap in the back seat.  
  
“It’s alright Peter. I’m right here.”   
  
He tried to talk again, wanted to say sorry mixed with thank you, but the hand was back in his hair, soothing and gentle, and he decided sleep was a better idea.  
  
The next time Peter woke up, he was in a large, unfamiliar bed, in a large, unfamiliar room and he felt marginally better. Not well by any means, but less likely to die at any second. His thoughts were a confused muddle of images, tugging him backward and forward in time. The last thing he remembred clearly was Mr. Stark driving him home.  
  
“You back with us?”  
  
Peter turned, surprised at the voice. Tony sat in an armchair by the bed, elbows on his knees. He looked tired, his hair flat and unstyled in a way Peter had never seen before.  
  
Peter nodded, his thoughts sharpening now that they had something to focus on. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a weak rasp. His throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper.   
  
“Small sips, Pete. I don’t want you throwing up in my bed.” He sucked at the straw Tony placed between his lips. It wasn’t cola or Gatorade, but something lighter, less likely to upset his stomach.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Tony asked. His voice was kind, but Peter searched it regardless for any hint of anger or annoyance.  
  
“Better.” He was still tired and loppy and his body ached, but the pounding in his head was gone, as was the desperate urge to vomit up his vital organs.  
  
“Good.” Tony gave his hand a little squeeze before standing up to leave. “I’m gonna let Bruce know you’re up. Let him check on you.”  
  
“I can get Bruce, Tony. Why don’t you stay here.” The voice came from the far corner of the room, where Captain Rogers stood by a window.  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Tony said, already walking out of the room. “Can you keep an eye on him? Make sure his fever doesn’t spike in the five minutes I’m gone?”  
  
As the door shut, Peter let his head sink back on the pillow, his spirts crestfallen. He’d caused a lot of trouble, he was sure of it.  
  
“I”m sorry,” he said, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Is Mr. Stark angry?”  
  
Steve shook his head and laid a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Not with you. He’s angry at himself, that’s all. He blames himself for not checking you out more thoroughly before you left. You scared the hell out of him, Peter. Out of everybody.”  
  
“I”m sorry,” he said again. “I don’t know what happened.”  
  
“Bruce think’s it’s just the flu, but he’s running some blood work to check. You were pretty out of it when we found you though. He has you on some anti-nausea drugs, along with a saline drip.”  
  
Peter raised his arm slightly, noticing the IV drip for the first time. He opened his mouth to apologize again, but Steve shook his head. “Tony’s just worried Peter. No one blames you.”  
  
Captain Rogers sat with him until Tony and Dr. Banner arrived a few minutes later. Tony hovered by the door as Bruce administered a more through check up and went over Peter’s blood work.  
  
“It’s definitely the flu,” he confirmed. “It’s a particularly violent strain considering your enhanced immune system, but you’re going to be fine, as long as you stay in bed and get some rest.”  
  
He gave Peter a few more pain killers to swallow and left instructions with Tony on how often to administer the rest. “If I were you, I’d milk this for all it’s worth” he said with a smile. “Let Tony play nurse maid, ok?” Dr. Banner winked at him as he and Steve left the room.  
  
The door had been shut for a good few minutes before Peter could work up the courage to speak. “How did you know to come get me?” he asked. The room felt cozier, more protected, now that it was just the two of them.  
  
“May couldn’t get in touch with you,” Tony said. He let out a long sigh and sat at the edge of the bed. Peter noticed he wasn’t wearing his usual well-tailored suit but jeans and a t-shirt, like he’d gotten dressed in a hurry. “Apparently, she called you a million times and you didn’t pick up. When she couldn’t get in touch with you, she called me. I told FRIDAY to call Karen, and well, when that didn’t work, I didn’t really have much of a choice.”  
  
“Oh,” Peter said. It was dawning on him that more than a few hours had passed and that it wasn’t Friday night anymore.  
  
“It’s 11am on Saturday, kid. You scared the shit out of everyone.” He stared at Peter for a beat, as if debating whether or not to lean into the guilt trip. “You can imagine how surprised I was when May told me she was away for the weekend. In the Catskills.”   
  
“It’s an annual girls trip,” Peter said meekly. “She goes with all her college friends.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s what she told me.” Tony paused for a second before continuing. “Do you want me to call her? Have her come back? I know you said you’d be more comfortable at home.”  
  
Peter shook his head. “I lied,” he said. He was too tired and sick to pretend any more. “Can I stay here? With you?” There was a sudden wobble to his voice, the product of fatigue and too much emotion building up in his chest.  
  
A warm smile spread across Tony’s face. “Always,” he said, pulling the blanket up a little higher around Peter’s chest. “I’ll let her know you’re in good hands.”  
  
With that question settled, Peter let his eyes slip back shut only to snap them open again when he felt the bed shift. “Are you leaving?” he asked, panicked at the thought of being alone. Tony looked slightly surprised, but sat back down and placed a hand on his chest. A flush crept up Peter’s face. “I mean, it’s fine if you are, I was just surprised,” he mumbled.   
  
“No, I’m not going anywhere,” Tony said. He shifted closer and began to stroke Peter’s hair. “Get some rest, alright?”  
  
For the next few hours Peter slept heavily, whatever pain killers they’d given him finally kicking in. He didn’t dream, just slipped into a void of blissful, welcome darkness. When he woke again, there were more voices in the room, Tony’s along with the same low rumble that had carried him out of the apartment.  
  
Through hooded eyes, he watched as Steve drifted around the room, opening a closet door, rummaging around on a side table, before disappearing again. A TV was on mute, showing the news.  
  
“Hey,” Tony said, looking down at him. He was sitting on Peter’s other side, propped up by an impressive amount of pillows. In his sleep, Peter had curled around him, throwing a possessive arm around his waist. “Think you can eat something? Nothing crazy. Some tea, maybe a few pieces of toast. Definitely no tomato soup.”  
  
Peter groaned at the memory. “Maybe? In a few minutes?”  
  
He thought about untangling himself from such a childish embrace, but Tony didn’t seem to mind, so Peter just wiggled a little closer. A hand dropped across his side, lightly rubbing at his back. The news broadcast switched to Empire Strikes Back and they watched in silence for a while. Eventually, the hum of the movie and Tony’s deep, steady breathing lulled him back to sleep.  
  
When Peter woke the next time, the pressure on his bladder was too much to ignore. Tony disconnected the IV from his arm, and helped him push back the heavy down comforter. As he swung his legs over the bed, Peter realized, to his dismay, that he was no longer wearing the jeans and hoodie he’d fallen asleep in on Friday night, but clean gray sweatpants and a Black Sabbath t-shirt.  
  
“You were literally covered in puke when we found you,” Tony said, helping him out of bed and to the bathroom. “Like, top to bottom. No idea how it got in your hair, but it did.”   
  
He groaned in embarrassment.  
  
“Those are my sweats by the way,” Tony kept going, digging the wound a little deeper. “I thought about giving you Steve’s sweatpants, but they wouldn’t stay up on those delicate hips of yours.”  
  
“Can I just use the bathroom, please,” Peter asked, trying to change the subject.  
  
“Ummhmm,” Tony said, holding him by the elbow still. “Nice Captain America boxers by the way. I’m a little wounded you went with the sheild pattern, but really a man’s underwear is his own business…”  
  
“It was a gag gift,” Peter yelped, almost slamming the door on Tony’s grinning face.  
  
He emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later feeling almost like a real person. There had been a new toothbrush laid out for him, along with a change of clothes and any number of toiletries he may have wanted to use. Instead of getting back in bed, they walked slowly down the short hallway into the private living space where Peter managed to eat a few slices of toast without throwing them back up.  
  
“How’s your throat?” Tony asked, pouring him some tea.  
  
He nodded rather than spoke, because it was fine, but all that swallowing and walking had managed to tire him out. He pushed away the tea and lay down on the couch, tugging a blanket over himself. On the other side, Tony sat as well, flipping on the TV. Peter felt a wiggle of guilt at as he pulled out a tablet and started to work.   
  
“I’ll be fine on my own, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. “I’m just gonna hang out and watch TV. You probably want to work in the lab or something.” Outside the light had turned to the brilliant yellows and pinks of early dusk. Mr. Stark had spent all day with him. It was bound to be boring, babysitting him. Peter was sure of it.  
  
“I can work here,” Tony said, propping his feet up on the coffee table. He let his hand fall lightly across Peter’s legs, the point of contact mild but reassuring. They watched Alien this time, a movie he’d seen a million times before, until his eyes started drooping again. He dozed for a bit, rousing slightly when he heard Steve come into the room. In his half-asleep state, Peter let the steady rhythm of their conversation wash over him. They spoke to each other in the shorthand of married people, incomplete sentences punctuated by the occasional laugh. It was the way Uncle Ben and May used to talk to each other, his parents too. The sound of it made him feel safe.  
  
“Kid? You ready to go back to bed?” Tony gave his leg a gentle shake. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want Steve carrying you around anymore.”  
  
He frowned at the memory and sat up. Another detail he’d have to live down. From the corner, there was the sound of Steve smothering a laugh.  
  
“I’m sorry I’m kicking you out of your bedroom, Cap,” Peter said, staggering to his feet. He felt guilty about disrupting their routine, but not enough to suggest sleeping anywhere else.  
  
“What?” A flush spread across Steve’s cheeks, much to Peter’s delight. “You’re not kicking me out of our room, I mean, Tony’s room.” He winced at the slip of his tongue.  
  
“Smooth, Steve. Real smooth.” Tony rolled his eyes. “It’s fine, Peter. He has his own wing he can use.”  
  
“Speaking of, I’m going to get back there,” Steve mumbled, his face still red. He wished them both goodnight and walked down the hall faster than was totally necessary.  
  
“Oops.” Peter gave Tony an apologetic shrug of his shoulders. “Was it a secret?”  
  
“Not much of one, apparently,” Tony said as they made their way to the bedroom.  
  
Somehow Peter had never thought about them together, but it certainly made sense. You only fought so hard with people you really loved.  
  
“Out of curiosity, what gave it away?” Tony asked.  
  
“Two toothbrushes in the bathroom,” Peter said around a yawn. “Two razors. His watch has been on the other side of the bed all day, too.”  
  
Tony nodded, the little details obviously having escaped him.   
  
“Plus, you’ve been wearing Captain Rogers’ t-shirt all day.” Peter said, unable to hold back his smile.  
  
“What?” Tony looked down at his own chest in surprise, clearly unaware. It was an old, gray Army t-shirt, frayed at the edges, worn thin from so much use.  
  
“He wore it last week when we were sparring,” Peter said. “Plus, it’s way too big on you.”   
  
“Yeah, well,” Tony mumbled. It was his turn to blush. “I thought you were dying so I didn’t bother to second guess my outfit as I ran out the door.” Peter felt bad for a second, imagining their panic this morning.  
  
“Does anyone else know?” Peter asked, sliding under clean sheets. In their absence, the bed had been made up with fresh linens. He stacked a few pillows behind his head, to give him a better angle for the TV.  
  
“Probably,” Tony said. He climbed onto the other side of the bed but stayed on top of the covers, propping himself up next to Peter with a large assortment of pillows. “If you were able to figure it out I imagine other people have.”  
  
They sat in silence for a while, Peter watching some cooking show while Tony focused on a tablet.  
  
“Mr. Stark?”  
  
“Hmmm?” Tony didn’t look up from his work.  
  
“Did you really think I was dying?” Peter asked quietly.  
  
Tony stared at him for a long moment before answering.  
  
“Yes,” he said quietly. “For a few minutes there, yeah.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“When I found you in bed, you were pale and sweaty, and unresponsive. I couldn’t wake you up. You scared the shit out of me Peter. I can’t have anything happen to you.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said weakly. “I wanted to call but…” he trailed off.  
  
“But what?” Tony asked, his eyes filled with worry. “Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you say, ‘Hey, Mr. Stark, I feel like shit, can you come get me?’”  
  
Peter shrugged his shoulders, unable to push his voice past the sudden lump in his throat.  
  
“I would’ve come in a heart beat, Peter. It tears me up that you think I wouldn’t.”  
  
“That’s not it. That’s not it at all,” Peter protested. He stared across the bed, feeling a different kind of awful. “I know you would have. I just thought, I mean, I’m an Avenger right? I thought I should be an adult about it. You can’t have an Avenger on your team who can’t handle being sick.”  
  
Tony turned to face him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Peter, everyone needs help. We don’t do any of this on our own. This is a team. You know that. You can always call me.”  
  
Peter let out a shaky breath and nodded, his throat thick with feeling. With the back of his hand, he wiped away the tears that had started to leak out.  
  
“I can’t take the place of your parents, or Ben, or May, or anyone else,” Tony said quietly. “But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing. You have to believe that.”  
  
“I know,” Peter said, his voice crumbling. He turned his head to the side and buried his face in Tony’s chest. Strong arms immediately wrapped around him, pulling him close. “But everyone always leaves. Mom, Dad, Uncle Ben. What if you do too?” He was crying openly now, the fatigue and fever wearing away all his defenses. He thought about how desperately he sometimes missed all of them, how he couldn’t bear to add any more names to that list.  
  
“Pete,” Tony whispered, his own voice sounding watery. “I can’t promise you nothing is going to happen to me, but I’m here right now, ok?” Peter dug his fingers into Tony’s side at that, the truth of it more than he wanted to hear. “You don’t need to worry about doing this on your own. I’m right here.”  
  
Peter nodded against his chest, still hiding his face. His sobs were shaking him lose, a mixture of grief and love pouring out of him all at once. Tony held him tightly as he cried, stroked his back and petted his hair, murmuring softly into his ear to calm him down.   
  
“It’s alright,” he kept saying as Peter’s fingers clutched at his side. “I’m right here, you’re ok.”   
  
His sobs eventually gave way to quiet sniffles, and Peter pulled a fraction of an inch away, wiping at his eyes and nose with his t-shirt. Before he could go too far, Tony tucked him back into his side, and told him to get some rest.  
  
“I’ll be here when you wake up, kid. Get some sleep.”  
  
Utterly spent, Peter was too tired to even be embarrassed, but he felt lighter and better than he had all day. Mr.Stark was here, at least for now, and that was all that mattered. He shut his eyes and curled an arm around Tony’s waist, holding onto him like a child.  
  
“Mr. Stark?” he mumbled, drifting already.  
  
“Hmmm,” Tony said, stroking his hair.  
  
“About you and Captain Rogers. I actually figured it out another way.”  
  
“Oh yeah? How’s that?”  
  
“It’s the way you talk to each other when you think no one is listening.”  
  
“Hmm? And which way is that?” Tony asked.  
  
Peter burrowed into his side and yawned against Tony’s hip, an overwhelming sense of warmth and safety tugging him into sleep. “Like you’ve loved each other for a long time.” 


End file.
